


Nothing will be fine, everything will be fine

by radioactiveryro



Series: ranboo fics [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Comfort, Gen, Injury, Internal Conflict, Panic Attacks, Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), he'll probably be okay, his tears hurt him, others are mentioned but theyre not really here, phil shows up and it gets happier, poor ranboo just needs a break and a hug tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28905678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioactiveryro/pseuds/radioactiveryro
Summary: L'Manburg is gone. Ranboo is lost and confused; his habit of catastrophising doesn't seem to help with his internal conflict.
Relationships: Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: ranboo fics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175147
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135





	Nothing will be fine, everything will be fine

After what seems like hours of hopeless efforts, the fighting finally comes to an end. Smoke curls in the sky as the remaining flames of war flicker, licking up the rubble and ruins. The sharp tang of gunpowder hangs thickly in the air, leftover from when it was raining TNT. Where a proud country once stood, there's now a vast crater; it's the deepest pit any of them have ever seen, whole chunks of stone carved away by the explosives.

The world seems to go quiet, yet so loud at the same time. Horrified awe settles over the land, raw shock stealing their tongues, replacing their voices with foggy despair. It's over so quickly - maybe it really was just a futile attempt. Even with all of their (hasty, ruined, destroyed) preparations, they still lost. Their home is gone. L'Manburg is gone.

Ranboo stumbles aimlessly around the carnage, staring blankly at what remains of the battlefield. He thinks, numbly, that he should be feeling something; that he should have some sort of reaction to all of this. Shouldn't his hands be shaking, at least? He doesn't think they are. With not even as much as a sigh, he turns and walks away, L'Manburg's ruins still smouldering behind him.

There are voices ahead, just off of the prime path. He doesn't want to talk to them, doesn't want to face the people who took a stand and fought for their home with their lives while he sat back and all but watched it burn. They find a way to corner him in conversation anyway.

Fundy's lost his mind, Ranboo concludes. He was teetering at the edge and losing L'Manburg was the final blow, the final push, to send him tumbling down the metaphorical cliffs. There's an ocean of different sides waiting for him; hungry sharks circle just below the surface of murky waters; angry tides crash against lethal rocks of political conflict. Fundy's lost his mind, he thinks, and he moves on.

Teaming up is a pointless thing. Teams lead to sides, and sides lead to conflict, and conflict leads to war. Nothing good comes from war. Haven't they learned that already? Surely they know that by now? Why can't they see it? Quackity thinks he's almost got it, but his vision is clouded by rage and blame and paranoia.

"Think about it, Ranboo," Quackity tells him.

As if he has an option to not think about it in the first place. His mind is a medley of confusion; noisy thoughts pitch arguments, supporting everyone's side; he doesn't want to think about sides. This world is too gray for sides - too complicated for a simple black and white viewpoint. There is no good or bad. All of them have done good and bad. He's done more bad than good, he thinks dully.

It's true, isn't it? In trying to help everyone, he only hurt them more. In trying to be everyone's friend, he's lost everyone that trusted him. How many people has he hurt?

How many more will he hurt?

The chorus of sound in his head swells. It's his fault, the noise sings. It's his fault, it's his fault, it's his fault. None of this would have happened if he'd done things differently. Maybe if he stood up for Tommy before he was exiled; maybe if he'd taken the blame instead; maybe if he hadn't agreed to grief George's stupid house; maybe then L'Manburg would still be standing.

Ranboo finds himself standing at the edge of the crater again. He peers down, gauging the distance, and thinks he can see down to bedrock. His gaze shifts upwards, scanning the ruins and remnants of the country, barely recognising the area where his house used to be.

L'Manburg was the only home he ever had here, he realises. They took him in, gave him a place to stay, somewhere to call his own. Maybe he hadn't agreed with everything they'd done, but they were still there for him when he had nothing. After all that, he still betrayed them? Why?

He thinks back to Niki, and how furious she had been with him yesterday, how she'd yelled and yelled until her voice sounded raw. She'd called him a traitor. He dimly recalls her confession from after the fight - she'd been the one to burn down the L'Mantree. Hypocrite.

His memory book weighs heavy in his pocket. He takes it out, turns to the page titled ‘friends’, and stares at the blank list. The paper feels rough under his fingertips, indents of recently erased names and writing reminding him of all the connections he's now thrown away. If he squints hard enough, maybe he can see the ghostly markings of those names.

Now he's all alone.

Dimly, he’s aware of his throat tightening. It squeezes, constricts, and the air in his lungs cries out. The book slips from his hands, hitting the grass with a soft thudding sound; the noise echoes in Ranboo’s ears but it sounds distant, muffled, as if his head were underwater. His skull buzzes while he drowns in the noise, thoughts fighting to be heard over one another.

When did he sit down? He doesn't remember. His fingers curl inward, closing around soft dirt and tugging on blades of grass, pressing fingertips into the palms of his hands. The gentle pressure helps, he wants to believe, helps to ground him just a little bit. It doesn't.

Tears blur his vision. He blinks and they spill, falling down his face in two neat trails of agony. It burns, like fire on his skin, prompting more tears to pool in his eyes. He doesn't have the energy to wipe them away. His head tilts back, gazing up at the clouds as he wills himself to stop crying.

It's his fault, the thoughts remind him. This is all because of him; because of his decisions, his choices; because of his stupid memory. None of this would have happened if he could just remember something important, for once in his life.

Not this. Not this, he pleads. This is the one thing he doesn't want to remember. He doesn't want to remember the cries of his friends (he's not their friend anymore) as they were helpless to save their home. Let him forget, he begs, let him forget it all, this time. All he wants is to forget.

Realisation floods his mind. He looks down, ignoring the pain dancing across his tear-stained cheeks, staring long and hard at the book on the ground. Ranboo picks it up, sets his jaw. There's a way to forget. In just a few moments, he could forget everything that happened.

He heads to the panic room.

The obsidian box is cold, chilling, haunted with memories of the night before. An image of the community house, ruined and destroyed, flickers through his mind. Dream's voice (was it his voice?) echoes in his ears, calm yet insistent; Ranboo blew it up, it's his fault. It's all his fault.

That's what it all comes back to; every single wayward thought loops back to point the blame; it's his fault. A distressed noise escapes him, soft and stuttering, and he shakes his head. Don't get distracted.

There's a flint and steel in his hand, a small fire burning in the corner of the room. In his other hand, the memory book stares up at him, pages laying open and tauntingly blank. His gaze flickers between the book and the flames.

A long moment passes.

He closes the book, snuffing the fire out with a frustrated sigh. He can't do it; no matter how much he wants to, he can't just throw away all of his memories. Losing the things he can still remember would probably do more harm than good at this point. 

Being inside the panic room is stifling, stressful; it brings just what it's name says - panic. His hands shake as he puts the book away, out of sight and out of mind. He can't stay here, he thinks, and so he leaves.

Why do his feet keep taking him back to L'Manburg? He doesn't know what he's doing, doesn't know what he should do, moving aimlessly as his body guides him. Part of him hopes it knows where he's going. Part of him is too exhausted to care.

The sound of a voice behind him startles him out of his thoughts. He blinks in surprise as Philza smiles at him, something akin to an apology offered up in the older man's eyes. Ranboo wipes at his face with one sleeve, praying the tear stains don't look as bad as they feel. If Phil notices, he doesn't say anything.

"Hi, mate." Phil's voice is warm, kind, and Ranboo lets go of a breath he didn't realise he was holding. "Are you doing alright? D'you need a place to stay?"

It's an offer, he realises. Just ten minutes ago, he thought everybody hated him, but maybe he was wrong. He searches Phil's expression for a moment and finds no reason to doubt the sincerity of his words.

"Yeah, actually," he admits. The tension in his shoulders fades as he relaxes just a little. "That would be really nice."

He talks with Phil for a while longer, as they make the trek to Technoblade's house together. Ranboo's head is quieter - his thoughts calmer, more grounded. He lets himself laugh along with Phil, the light conversation easing his stress and soothing the confusion in the back of his mind.

By the time they reach the tundra, he's doing considerably better. Relief washes over him, and it feels like he can finally breathe properly again. It's colder out here, a frosty breeze nipping at his face, but there's an odd sense of peace and freedom amongst the snowy plains.

He smiles back as Phil gives him a quick tour (even if he's seen most of it already; it doesn't hurt to be polite). When Phil says goodbye again and sets off to do his own thing, Ranboo pulls his book out and writes a small addition in a certain page.

Things are looking up, he thinks. L'Manburg is gone, but things are looking up. He'll be alright now - everything will be fine. He's sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i don't really know how to tag things so im sorry if i've missed anything out :') thank you for reading, please let me know if you liked it! i really appreciate it :]
> 
> if you'd like, you can find me on twitter and tumblr! (my usernames there are also 'radioactiveryro'!)
> 
> thank you again, i hope you have a good day <3


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